Sinner Sins Again
Sinner Sins Again is an event shown from the perspective of Lothar, preparing Dragomir to be reunited with the 2.0 Avengers. Date: 31 October 2015. Characters Involved Hex 2.0 *Wraith / Lothar Schmidt Avengers 2.0 *Moroz Drakona / Dragomir Beginning to Burn The blonde head whips up the instant I walk in, causing a few droplets of blood to splatter across the concrete ground. I observe the tied up teenager, pulling on black leather gloves as I do so. “How do you feel, agent?” I coldly ask, stopping before him. “How do you expect me to feel, Skellington?” he snarls, glaring fiercely, as if that will help him. “Pleasantly warm, perhaps? Or are you beginning to burn, dragon boy?” I smirk, taking hold of his chin to force him to look me in the eyes. No fear. Not yet, anyway. He merely glares still, but his eyes drop to the fire-filled bins – improvisation is a nice little skill – either side of him. “The poor little –Scylla- is too scared to let me have my powers. How strong you are! It’s cute of you, Schmidt. Why are you doing this? Shouldn’t you be focused on tearing apart your own team, or are they getting boring? I can sympathize. Then again, you’re boring yourself.” “Are you attempting to insult me? You’re failing miserably.” “No, but that right there? Proves you’re boring. Stealing Daddy’s lines now, hm? Sweet.” Rage strikes out in the form of a swift slap to the agent’s cheek, resulting in his head snapping to the side with the impact. No one gets to say that. Not even my own allies. Granted, they are allies forced on me, but if they want me to play nicely then they understand not to deliberately piss me off. Or they should do. Angering me will get enemies nothing but pain, not blurted out information. Idiot. “You slap like a girl,” he mutters, nevertheless hanging his head. In retaliation to the remark, I move closer, bringing my knee up between his legs, eliciting a slow groaning whine from his mouth. “You react like a girl too,” he still persists to growl, unwilling to give up. “Insulting me really isn’t going to get you anywhere,” I sigh, turning away to sift through a small box on a chair behind me. “I thought that we, together, could give your team a little surprise party. This is the crucial preparation stage, you see. They would hate to see you in such a state, I’m sure. So let’s improve, shall we?” I explain, turning back to the pained agent with a malicious grin, showing him the six nails piled on my palm. “I’ll really be quite nailed at the party,” he dryly comments, watching with a returned emotionless mask. Please, agent. It was one of his giveaways that he was in pain. “Very much so,” I agree, placing five nails onto the chair in exchange for a hammer. “In some respects, you remind me of those –fictional- talks of Jesus Christ.” He merely waits, though the expression in his eyes portray how ludicrous he finds my statement. “You’re going against the set society to introduce something new – in your case, order. You have a mission to try and spread the word, though instead of love you chose hope to instil into the resisting people. And now this is your trial, for treason against a clearly superior force.” He sighs an exasperated sigh, raising his eyebrows. “Fair points, but only a lunatic would think them up.” I roll my shoulders back in a shrug, holding the nail to the centre of his palm, feeling somewhat fortunate that the heat really did keep his powers away – it was an untested theory from our end – or else I am sure he could have broken the chains around his wrists and ankles somehow. Holding the nail steady, I say, “There’s also the point of you being the son of a –” I slam the hammer on the head of the nail, driving it straight through his hand, catching the ulnar bursa just to make it that slight bit worse “– god who believes himself to be the absolute best.” He bites down on his lip hard enough to draw blood, muscles tensing in his fight against instinctual cries of pain. I repeat my actions with his other hand, “You were also, in a different way, born to an abnormal amount of –” I listen to his escaped whine with a measure of satisfaction “- parents.” Picking up the third nail, I position it at the centre of his left wrist, above the position of his median nerve, before moving it back a little further to aim instead for muscle. “You’re infuriatingly annoying,” I mutter, swiftly driving the nail through, and move onto the opposite wrist. “And absolutely idiotic.” The nail tears through his wrist into the symmetrical spot. By this point, he is cursing automatically as blood drips down onto the ground. I crouch down, grabbing a nail from the chair, holding it over the middle of his foot. “What else? Oh! Your disciples. And look who betrayed you –” I slam the hammer down, close to missing but hit it through enough anyway “– your own brother!” I laugh, repeating my actions with his other foot before I stand up. “I thought the point was to nail me into the actual cross, not just put it through my flesh,” he snarls through laboured breaths. I ignore the question. My intentions do not have to remain the same as Jesus’ supposed crucifixion. “How do you feel, agent?” I echo my first words. “Fuck.. you..” he snarls, resting his head back against the wall. At least I was unbothered about completing the cross and only used one plank to nail his hands; he could have had the displeasure of splinters in his back otherwise. “Your little friends will be along for the party soon enough,” I smirk, heading to the doorway, before pausing and glancing back. “I’d suggest you save up your cries for help until you hear them arrive. Tell them I say hello. If you don’t crumble first.” Category:2015 Category:31 October Category:2010s Category:Events